


A Branch of the Worldtree

by Mystical_Magician



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Magician/pseuds/Mystical_Magician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the Scoobies find Captain America months before SHIELD would have, a more well-adjusted Steve Rogers appears on the helicarrier during Loki's interrogation, a strange agent of an unknown organization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This begins post season 7 of Buffy and pre-Avengers. I've never read the comics, so this is based on the show/movies. Also, please do not expect an update any time soon. I have so many ideas and in my head and so little time to write, but the prologue was demanding that it be written right now.

“This is punishment for that thing with the grackle and the meeting and that goat-thing sacrifice, isn’t it,” Xander grumbled through chattering teeth and a muffler. He was California born and bred, for goddess’ sake, and three layers of thermal wear plus an enormous parka only maybe took an edge off the cold. 

“Giles would never be so petty,” Willow admonished, eyes on the iced structure before them as she huddled in her puffy, subzero winter wear. The grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, however, belied her words. “For some odd reason, despite a rather glaring lack of diplomacy, you tend to be a hit in our first contact treaty meetings,” she continued.

“Scoobies don’t do diplomacy,” Xander whined. “And the incident wasn’t my fault, anyway,” he added as an afterthought.

Willow hummed in absentminded agreement.

“And they – where here I mean _I_ – especially do not do diplomacy in the Arctic! What do we need the Arctic for anyway? Even other demons outside of the Arctic want nothing to do with it! Andrew. Andrew would have been a good negotiator.” 

The redhead at his side whipped around to give him a disbelieving look. 

“Well, he would have been a negotiator, anyway. If we’d labeled him, maybe. And I totally could have made…convinced him to come in my place. First contact. If I’d used the phrase first contact, I wouldn’t have even had to bribe the uber-nerd. And it’s not like the Grr’ulk clan drove a hard bargain, or is even picking off researchers from the outposts or anything. They just wanted a cleansing, and hey, another magic user would have probably been really helpful, instead of someone who makes magic go all weird and wonky. Why didn’t I make Andrew come instead? I think my limbs are falling off. I definitely can’t feel my face anymore.” 

“Because this was your punishment, and Giles shoved you off too quickly for you to get around it,” Willow said brightly. “Now shush, Mister. I think I’ve almost got the right frequency.” 

“What’s taking so long?” Xander asked, groaning as a freezing gust of wind caught him in the face. 

“It’s like trying to find a particular station on an antique radio. I can kind of almost feel that grating, nails on a chalkboard feeling on the wavelength that they’re tuned into – and it’s really fascinating that Grr-ulks can sense magic on such a different wavelength, I’ll definitely have to ask them more questions about that when we see them again. I wonder if it has something to do with their home dimension? Do you think they practice magic differently, because they said, and everything I’ve researched suggests that it’s just a different way of sensing, not doing, but – ”

“Willow, focus. Sci-magic babble later, getting this done quickly now.” 

“Right. Sorry. Okay,” she said shaking her head, and returning her gaze to…

“What is it, anyway?” Xander wondered out loud. “It’s not the right shape to be a ship.” 

“Plane, I think.” She yelped and stumbled, bringing her hands to her ears in a futile gesture. “Found it. Oh goddess, that’s really…” The witch shuddered, this time not only from the freezing cold. “No wonder they stay away and want it cleansed. That is just…”

“You alright, Wills?” Xander asked sharply, a hand on her elbow from where he had lunged to catch her in case she fell.

“Yeah, I’m fine Xander. It’s not painful, and it doesn’t actually have that ooky feeling you get on a Hellmouth. But nails on a chalkboard was a really accurate translation. You’ve got to wonder what had been on board that it still resonates like this decades later.”

“What,” the one-eyed man began when he saw her rummaging around in her satchel, before he saw which crystal she was taking out. “Ah.” 

“Yeah, I thought it would be a better idea to check that nothing is hiding in there before we find our way in,” Willow murmured wryly. 

“Oh, for the good old days when we just dove blindly into mausoleums,” Xander lamented. “When did this crash, anyway? Did they say?” 

“As near as I could understand, during World War II.” 

Something clicked in his mind. “No way.” 

But his companion was already chanting, and so he had his fit quietly – and intensely – to the side. “Oh my God, no way. Oh my God. Oh my God. This – If this…Andrew will be _volunteering_ to take every crappy job I am assigned. I will never again have to freeze my balls off.” 

“Please, no talk about your balls,” the witch demanded, making a face. Her confusion over the purple glow of the crystal had momentarily switched to confusion over Xander’s antics. “And what’s got you so worked up? You didn’t drink the not-juice from the meeting, did you? We told you not to drink the not-juice.”

“I didn’t drink the not-juice,” Xander dismissed. “But seriously, Wills. Think about it. Plane crash during World War II? The Arctic? Carrying some sort of strange and possibly magic power source that, apparently, still resonates powerfully enough to rattle teeth, or whatever? Plus, bombs, you said we had to be careful because you sensed a lot of bombs in there somewhere. This is only every kid’s greatest dream!”

Willow stared at him, glowing crystal dangling, momentarily forgotten, in her grasp. “Oh my goddess.” 

“I know, right?” 

“Oh my goddess. But, but what are the chances? I mean, if he were supernaturally related, but it was all science! We don’t…I mean, it’s probably just some other, random World War II-era fighter plane. Us of all people? Finding this?”

“Actually, us of all people maybe have a better chance of finding this,” Xander said giddily. “And I think that’s too many coincidences not to be what I think this is.” 

That was the kind of Scooby sense that not many others would understand. Or want to.

Willow’s gaze suddenly snapped back to the crystal she held, and her eyes widened even further. “Oh my goddess,” she breathed. 

“I know, right?” her best friend beamed. 

“No, Xander, you… Okay, so you know a green glow is living humans, and a red glow is demons, and white is spirits of some kind?” She held up the purple crystal. 

He squinted. “So that’s whole and unbroken, so there’s one living purple thing in the wreck. What’s purple stand for? I thought animals was orange, or yellow, or something, if I’m remembering right. Please don’t tell me we’re about to poke an angry polar bear.” 

“Orange. And I don’t know for sure. Purple wasn’t an option.” 

“But then, what – ” Xander froze. The penny dropped. 

“So,” he said, as the pair stared wide-eyed at each other. He licked lips dry and cracked from the biting winds. “So they did what to the guy? Exactly?” 

“Some sort of serum,” Willow responded faintly. “Super-human.” 

“So, basically, human-plus.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Andrew will totally beg for any and all crappy jobs I am assigned after this, won’t he?” 

“Xander,” Willow said, “I don’t think Giles is going to assign you anything outside the offices or schools again, ever.” She was probably exaggerating, but definitely not by much. 

“Okay,” he said, clapping his gloved hands together, which only resulted in a muffled sort of thump. “Let’s get in there and see what, exactly, we’ll be dealing with here. Maybe we’re being ridiculous.” He drooped a little. “I am going to be so disappointed if there is, instead, some sort of portal to a hell dimension in there.”

Willow patted his head, brushing ice and snow off of his hat. “That makes two of us.”


	2. Chapter 1

_Eternity is darkness._

_The Endless was gray and now-before-always is nothingness. He is not aware, not exactly, but impressions leak through._

_Cold._

_Numb._

_Black._

_Eerie creaking, madness-inducing groaning. Nothingness is never silent._

_Nothingness never changes._

_Until it does._

_Brightness leaks through. Noises change. Voices. Music? The sounds are human, and something inside him shifts._

_Were he aware, he might call it hope._

_When Steve wakes, it is a slow, gradual thing. His body aches, and his thoughts seem clouded and almost muffled. It takes a moment, but his breath hitches when his last clear memory resolves itself, of crashing the plane._

_Anything since then has been consigned to his subconscious, to resurface later in his nightmares._

_Steve turns his attention outwards, trying to shake the feeling of heaviness in his body. Were he not able to see his muscle definition, to breathe deeply and easily, he might think he was returned to the issues and frailties of his pre-serum days._

_He hears music first. A song he has never heard before, in a style very different from what he recognizes. Steve frowns. He might think it was foreign, if the singer was not singing in perfect, unaccented English. He brushes off his discomfort and catches the low murmur of voices just beneath the music – female, he thinks – as he opens his eyes._

_The room unnerves him. It is some sort of infirmary, he can tell that right away, but the details… They are strange. The bed is far more comfortable than any he had used in wartime, and the colors…he is not used to color in a hospital room, and he has visited plenty. It would be almost comfortable, Steve acknowledges, if his confusion weren’t exacerbating his fear. Because there is some sort of television hanging from the ceiling, but it is far larger and flatter than any he has seen before, the picture in crisp, amazing color playing some sort of program without sound. And the people on the screen are different, in dress and style at least. He flushes and looks away when he glimpses a young woman dressed in a manner that leaves her indecently bare, his gaze falling on something else that might be a smaller, folding flat television, with the bottom half looking vaguely like square typewriter keys._

_Steve’s pulse is racing as his eyes dart around the room, unwilling to even guess at what some of the machines do. What is this? Where is he? Has he been captured by Hydra? This doesn’t seem quite like their style, but he supposes that anything is possible._

_“-will tie you to a bed and stick a catheter in you if you do not take it easy for the next three days. Just try me. No patrols, no training, no sparring,” a woman says in an English accent as she leaves a curtained area, and he blinks. So, he is probably among allies. That, at least is good news, though he wonders who found him and how he got here. How he survived the crash._

_“Basically, if it sounds like fun, don’t do it. Oh!” She notices him sitting on the edge of his bed, and the startled look fades into a smile. “Sleeping Beauty finally awakes.”_

_“What, really?” the unseen patient says excitedly. “I wanna see!”_

_“Stay,” the nurse – no, doctor – barks. He hasn’t met a woman doctor before, but the white coat and the way she carries herself in her domain makes him think that she must be one. “Anna, you can meet Captain Rogers later. Actually, make yourself useful and text the Board that our guest is awake.”_

_Steve tenses, becoming more guarded as she tosses some sort of small, black device about the size of a deck of cards over the curtain. He wonders who or what the Board is, and what they want with him._

_The doctor turns her attention back to him. “Captain Rogers, my name is Dr. Joan Carter, and I’d like to ask you a few questions, and get another measure of your vitals now that you’re awake. It’s just a precaution, since your readings prior to waking were excellent, but I’d like to be sure that the ice didn’t have any adverse effects on your body.”_

_Steve hides his suspicion behind an easy-going smile and says, “Sure.” But she does not ask about the war, does not angle for confidential information, nor attempt to extract his blood. Although she could have done so while he was asleep, he supposes. Her questions are about how he feels, asking after any aches and pains, checking that his memories are intact and accurate. And she answers his questions about where they are – a special boarding school in the countryside not too far from London –who the Board are – the Board of Directors for the IWSC, which oversees a number of schools and related facilities world-wide – and that the war is over and the Allies won – although she is vague on how long it has been and how his friends are, insisting that the Board will explain when they arrive._

_Steve is not a fool. The technology in this room is advanced enough that several machines are unrecognizable to him. His hands clench into fists periodically before he forces them to relax. This place, this company, must be more than an educational firm, or how and why would they have been able to find and keep him? He contemplates escaping, as there are only two people present, both of them women and one injured. But where would he go? What would he do with his freedom?_

_No, he’ll stay long enough to get the answers he needs, and then he will decide whether escape is necessary and the best way to do so. However formidable this organization might be, he rather doubts they’ve ever tried to restrain a super-soldier._

_Steve’s thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. He looks up, and an older man with graying hair enters, followed by a young blonde woman. His surprise must be rather apparent, as the blonde smirks a little. “We thought it best not to overwhelm you with Board members right away, and we’re not usually all here in London anyway. The others are either busy, out of the country, or being punished.” Her American accent is actually rather comforting, but Steve raises an eyebrow at the comment about punishment._

_“Buffy,” the older gentleman chides in the English accent Steve expected as he takes a seat in the empty chair by his bedside. But, ‘Buffy’? Was that really a name?_

_“Giles,” the blonde drawls unrepentantly, leaning against the backrest of his chair._

_The dynamic between the two confuses him. And ‘Buffy’ seems rather young to be a member of the Board of Directors of a large international organization._

_“Xander was the one that found you,” Buffy explains as an aside to Steve, before shifting a little to face him more completely. “Well, him and Willow, but Xander was there as punishment, and then he brought back you, which, completely awesome, but totally unexpected and rather unprecedented, so now Giles is kind of punishing him again, or maybe still, this time by making excuses for him not to meet you right away. Except really, if you think about it, this could all be blamed on Giles. Oh, Xander is another Board member, in case you didn’t catch that. Short for Alexander. I’m Buffy, by the way, and this is Giles.” She beams at him, as though scatter-brained and slightly empty-headed, and the way she speaks is not like anything he has ever heard before. And Steve might believe it, but he catches the way she watches the room and him, the way she moves with unconscious grace and strength, the way his instincts warn him that he faces a predator._

_Giles glares at Buffy before extending a hand with a polite smile. “Rupert Giles, nominal head of the IWSC.” He smiles sympathetically at Steve’s confused and slightly overwhelmed expression. “We’re a rather unusual organization, both in purpose and personnel relationships. It will, eventually get easier, I’m sure, should you choose to stay. Or rather, I should say, you’ll become more accustomed to the chaos.”_

_“Or just go crazy yourself,” Buffy interjects wryly._

_“Where am I?” Steve says, and it’s more plaintive than he meant to be. “What, exactly, is going on?”_

_Buffy sobers immediately, and Mr. Giles straightens a little, reaching for his glasses and polishing them slowly as he sighs._

_“There is really no easy way to say this,” the older gentleman says gravely. “But the truth is rarely easy, and putting it off serves no helpful purpose. Captain...we found you frozen in the ice. Your body had apparently gone into some sort of suspended animation, preserving you as you were when you crashed the plane.”_

_“Steve,” Buffy says gently, reaching out a hand to cover one of his own as he sat rigidly, bracing himself for a blow, for a truth that some part of him had guessed, but that he had not really wanted to hear spoken out loud. “You’ve been asleep for almost 70 years.”_

_They are silent then, as he attempts to process this information. He gazes into space unseeing, any sounds of grief trapped in his chest. 70 years. A lifetime. His friends are probably dead and gone. Everything he has known, everyone he has loved. He thought it would have been kinder to die in the crash, as he had assumed he would._

_“It will get better,” Buffy says after a long pause. “Over time, it won’t hurt quite as much.” He turns his blank gaze to her, to her expression of sympathy and understanding. Later, eventually, he will find out that she truly does understand the agony of resurrection. Later, eventually, he will come to understand the flicker of old guilt and grief that passes across Giles’ face. It does get better, in time._

_But for now, he is more alone and hurt than he has ever been._

_“I just…I had a date,” he murmurs._

 

 

Steve’s brow was furrowed in concern when he entered the conference room to a low buzz of conversation between the Board members present – or, as they were better known within the IWSC, the Scoobies – and noticed the box of doughnuts on the table. That wasn’t the greatest sign, as he had come to learn.

 

Willow was the first to notice him, glancing up from her laptop. “Hey Steve,” she said with a tired smile. “Go ahead and close the door.”

 

Steve’s concern deepened as he obeyed, the walls shimmering slightly when the closed door activated the privacy wards.

 

“Hey, man,” Xander said, ending his phone call and slipping his cell into a pocket. “Been a while.”

 

“Not long enough,” Steve joked. “Heard something happened to your phone’s dialing system, or something?” He grinned innocently as Xander glowered, reluctant amusement and a promise of payback evident in his single eye. “Apocalypse?” he asked almost immediately after, unwilling to get too distracted with the subtle tension in the room.

 

“Yeah, it seems like we’ve got an unexpected one, and we wanted to ask a favor,” Buffy said.

 

“You don’t have to agree or anything, we’ve got a backup if you can’t or don’t want to do this, it’s just that you seemed like the best choice,” Willow explained. “What with your super-secret military background, and the stories from your old girlfriend about her super-secret organization.”

 

“What do you need?” Steve asked, barely refraining from standing at attention. He hadn’t been through many apocalypses, and certainly wasn’t able to be quite so blasé about them as the Scoobies were.

 

“Basically, we were hoping you could infiltrate SHIELD,” Xander said with a wry smile.

 

Steve faltered. “Uh.”

 

“Sit,” Buffy said, waving him over. “You’re going to give me a complex, being all tall and loom-y.”

 

“Going to?” Xander snickered, and then yelped when she kicked out at him.

 

“Children,” a voice interjected haughtily from the laptop speakers, and Steve leaned over to see Dawn on video conference. “Hey Steve.” She grinned, waving, and he greeted her back, before she addressed the others. “That’s a no go on the _Eddas_ and the _Wyrd Seidr_ , too. Looks like there haven’t been any prophecies about this, so we’re going to have to rely on our seers, and whatever we can get from SHIELD’s files.”

 

“You know I’m not very good at the spying and lying thing,” Steve said, and winced. He’d definitely been spending too much time around the Scoobies. He was starting to sound like them.

 

“That’s fine, we really don’t have the time for a more traditional infiltration,” Xander said.

 

“Technically, SHIELD was one of the organizations that the old Council had an agreement with, and that we inherited. Any supernatural problems they run into, we can go on in and take over, get any and all related information they have, and so on,” Dawn explained. “So we’re not really breaking any laws, since we can get the information and intervene however we want, essentially.” She caught Steve’s raised eyebrow. “Yeah, the old Council could pretty much do whatever it wanted. ‘S what comes of having existed pre-written word to prevent the spread of demons and the forces of darkness.”

 

“But, they’re SHIELD. A shady, paramilitary, covert, super-spy organization. Like they’re actually going to hand over everything they have, all friendly and honest, open-door policy,” Buffy snorted. “Plus, they don’t know anything about us beyond the sanitized, mundane cover story, and the less we attract their attention, the less likely we’ll have to blow them all up.” She caught Steve’s look and pouted. “I’m joking. Mostly. Jeez, you blow up one school.”

 

“And gym,” Willow added.

 

“And Judge,” Xander said.

 

“And town,” Dawn threw in.

 

Steve chuckled, feeling some of his nervous tension disappear. As crazy and irreverent as they were, they were just as competent and dedicated to protecting the innocent. He trusted them. Really, he’d known his answer from the moment they asked. And yes, SHIELD was Peggy’s legacy, but it had been decades since she had been its director. These days, even on her good days, she wouldn’t know what they were doing, how or if they might have changed.

 

Besides, she was a lot like the Scoobies, determined to do what was right, even if that meant breaking a few rules. He was like that too, actually, so really it was hardly a surprise that he got along with them so well.

 

“Just out of curiosity, who was your backup?” he asked.

 

Xander waved a hand. “That would be me. Thanks to one Halloween on the Hellmouth, and a chaos mage called Ethan Rayne, I’m one of the few with a sort of military background.”

 

Steve eyed him thoughtfully. “How many times have you been possessed?” He shook his head and focused on the problem at hand, ignoring Xander’s sputtering and suppressing a grin. “Okay, what am I looking for, and how?”

 

The others straightened, taking on a more serious air. “I’m going to be casting a notice-me-not spell on you, and establishing a background telepathic link between the two of us,” Willow began. “Invisibility is actually more suspicious than notice-me-not, since otherwise you would have to be careful of how you moved and what sounds you made. This way, for the most part it will seem like you’re meant to be wherever you are, and completely uninteresting. Plus, invisibility is a powerful spell that leaves noticeable traces if you know how to look for them. In this case, subtle was better, especially if you’re likely to end up near the big bad. You just need to be careful of the more alert members of SHIELD. The Director, for example, and some of their most dangerous operatives could take notice of you, especially if you’re acting suspicious and attempt to sneak up on or around them. Their instincts will kick in.

 

“We’ve managed to hack some of SHIELD’s computers, but we can’t find anything more than basic information unless we get physical access, or resort to magic, which will be our last resort. We’ve got a couple of bugs for you to plant in their systems that will get our IT people and technopagans access to what we need on whatever they did to spark an apocalypse. Plus, if you’re there long enough, you might be able to commandeer a terminal and some passwords and do your own browsing. Right now, I’ve got our best people monitoring what we can of SHIELD’s electronic trail without them noticing, in addition to trawling the internet, so hopefully we’ll know whatever they’re looking for and manage to get you there in time to catch a ride.

 

“Otherwise I’ll have to drop you off on their base, and risk it being the wrong base. Plus, I’m trying to conserve energy, since it looks like a demonic coven is going to take advantage of the chaos to start yet another apocalypse.” Willow frowned in annoyance.

 

“We’ve got Andrew with the hackers, and he willingly abandoned his kitchen for the time being, so you know it’s pretty serious,” Dawn chimed in, and Steve sucked in a breath. He did know Andrew pretty well – not entirely of his own volition – so he knew what she meant.

 

“Giles is closeted with some of the researchers and the seers that told us about this, trying to find more information. It’s looking like it’s not entirely mystical, so that might be why we got so little notice, and can’t find much about it,” Buffy said. “Andrew’s saying aliens.”

 

“He might not be entirely wrong,” Xander interjected. “We know it’s got something to do with Norse gods and that cube you told us about, Steve.”

 

Steve sucked in a breath and pressed a fist against his thigh. “What the hell were they doing with it?” he asked dangerously.

 

“That’s something you’re going to have to find out,” he replied with a shrug. “We’ve got almost nothing. Just that it was last seen at a SHIELD base in the Mojave Desert, before the base did a Sunnydale and a guy called Loki plus minions took off with it. Thanks to the warning from the seers, we’d heard something was happening and figured out the first sign of this apocalypse would be in the Mojave Desert, but by the time a group from the Las Vegas house got there they were already evacuating.”

 

Steve nodded, managing to control his temper at the thought of the cube having resurfaced. “Interfering then would be a good way to slow everything down and get people killed,” he acknowledged.

 

“A couple of girls managed to follow the baddies for a ways, but they lost them about 30 miles out. The others helped with the aftermath, digging through the rubble for survivors,” Buffy mentioned quietly. “Said they were rescue workers, or something. Thanks for suggesting that training for the Slayers and support, by the way. It was a good idea.”

 

Steve smiled wanly.

 

“Mary Ellen was planning to alter the life-signs detection spell for her final project,” Willow informed them. “You know, to make it stronger and more accurate, so that it would tell you exactly where the life signs were located and how close to death. This definitely gave her the motivation and focus to forgo perfection for necessity, in case this happens again before we can stop it. I’ll be going over it when we’re done here. From what I can tell at a glance, it’s a bit rough, but serviceable. She’ll refine it, of course, make it final project-worthy.”

 

“That will definitely be helpful,” Steve said, and the others made sounds of approval. “Hopefully we won’t need it.” Unspoken, he thought they probably would, before this was over.

 

He knew the others were thinking it too.

 

“Loki and Norse gods,” he commented after a short silence. “Gods are a bit beyond me.” Not that he would back down. But it was something to mention.

 

“Well, not god-gods. More like…demigods, although that’s not quite accurate either.”

 

“I…don’t understand. I only took the mandatory introductory magic class,” he reminded Willow.

 

“Right.” She bit her lip. “Well, the Norse gods SHIELD apparently met, were the ones that sparked the Norse mythology. They’re aliens whose visit to Earth provided the…seed, so to speak of the Norse pantheon. The…faith, belief, worship…magic and imagination of the Norse people sort of combined to create actual gods. So, god-like powers and tech, yes. Actual gods, they are not.”

 

Steve glanced around at the others and noticed that Dawn was the only one who seemed to completely follow this watered down explanation, which made him feel a bit better. “I think I understand,” he said hesitantly. “They’re sort of alien demigods, still powerful but not as strong as the actual gods, correct?”

 

“Yep,” Willow said cheerfully.

 

“Are the actual gods likely to interfere?”

 

And really, what was his life that he could seriously ask that question?

 

The witch hesitated, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. “In this case, probably not. They haven’t really usurped their ‘thrones’ or blasphemed, or anything. And no one’s likely to summon them, and it doesn’t seem like a whole lotta magic is gonna be thrown around. Well, not in relation to this, anyway. So, no. I don’t think so.”

 

“Well, I guess that’s somethin’,” Steve muttered.

 

“That said, you’re still willing to go?” Xander asked.

 

Steve nodded. “I am,” he said with no trace of doubt.

 

“Last I heard, Giles said they managed to narrow the second sign to somewhere in Germany,” Dawn mentioned before signing off.

 

“Great.” Buffy bounced to her feet. “We’ll go find Giles, and get you the rest of the details before dumping you with SHIELD.”


	3. Chapter 2

_Don’t think._

_The rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire, bombs whistling, shouts of the dying, “watch your back, Captain!”_

_Don’t think._

_Heart pounding in his ears drowns out the chugging of the train engine, fingers slipping, lunging as Buc –_

_No thinking._

_His mother’s funeral, the long, numb walk to his tenement, with Bu –_

_Stop. Thinking._

_Peggy, “I’ve got to put her in the water”, Stork club, dancing, don’t be late, hope I don’t step onyourtoescoldfreezingwaterfillinglungsicingoverdarknessGodplease –_

_“You’re not gonna bust that one like a piñata.”_

_He jerks in surprise at the voice, knuckles scraping the side of the punching bag. Steve comes back to himself. He is panting so hard it sounds like sobs, and he is drenched in sweat, dots of red bleeding through the tape around his knuckles._

_“Our nerds reinforced those punching bags as far as modern tech could take it, and then the witches took it further,” Faith drawls. She leans against another bag, hip cocked and sensual as ever. “But then, you knew that.”_

_Steve shifts on his feet. He is still wound tight from nightmares, waking and sleeping, and a mind that refuses to stop. His workout hasn’t helped at all._

_He must have been here for hours._

_“Ma’a – ,” he starts before cutting himself off. Faith had not taken kindly to being called ‘ma’am’. “Faith,” he says. “Early morning?”_

_“Late night patrolling.”_

_Steve wipes the sweat from his eyes and notices that she does seem a little rough around the edges. He tenses further._

_“’S fine,” she says, waving away his concern before he says anything. “Standard patrol. No one hurt worse than some sprains._

_“But you, big guy.” Her eyes narrow. “Come on. You and me, we’re hittin’ the sparring mats.”_

_“What?” Steve says, startled._

_“Move it, Six-Pack. As much fun is it may be to burst punching bags, you look like you need to hit something that hits back.”_

_He follows automatically as she stalks to the other side of the gym, unwinding the tape from his hands. It still takes him a moment to overcome his ingrained discomfort with hitting a dame, no matter how thoroughly they had demonstrated that their abilities matched and in some ways exceeded his own._

_“I really don’t think – ”_

_“No thinking,” she retorts, and lunges at him._

_Slayers – really, any female he has met so far in this organization – have no such hesitations about hitting him. He’ll have to work on his period biases._

_He dodges clumsily in his surprise, before tossing the tape aside and blocking her kick. He’s too slow to grab the leg and she drops into a sweep, which he jumps over._

_That’s a mistake._

_He grunts as she slams a fist into his gut, tightening his muscles just in time to avoid extreme pain, and the next few seconds are a whirl of motion that end with him tossed across the mats._

_“Stop holding back,” she snaps._

_Steve shakes his head, slightly dazed as adrenaline rushes through his body. And then they’re exchanging blows again, and she eventually ends up kicking him in the side as he elbows the side of her head._

_They separate at the end of that exchange, Faith grinning with a wild light in her eyes, and Steve is surprised to realize that he is grinning back._

_“The others thought they’d try giving you some space. Thought maybe that’s what you need,” Faith says. They’re reaching a sort of rhythm, conversing as they fight._

_Steve falters, hits the ground she hits the back of his knees, but he twists and kicks her away as he flips to his feet._

_“And you disagreed?”_

_Faith shrugs, ducking his strike. “Dunno you well enough to tell if that’s the way to go. Frankly, I don’t know if you know what the best way to go would be. Been a week or two since you finished the orientations, doesn’t seem to be working, thought it was time to try something different. You tried talking?”_

_“To a…a psychologist?” He can’t prevent the doubt and censure from creeping into his voice. Period prejudice, maybe, but he’s not crazy. He doesn’t need one of…those._

_“Could be. But you don’t like shrinks, so, friend, stranger, acquaintance, online predator. Whoever you’d feel comfortable talking to.”_

_Faith catches the look on his face as she slithers out of his attempt at a joint lock and very nearly reverses it on him. He’s trying not to act too surprised; he doesn’t know her very well yet, after all. But she hasn’t struck him as the sort to attend therapy, never mind encouraging others to._

_“Yeah, well, there’s not a lot to do in prison, aside from talking to the state-mandated shrink and maybe getting a GED.” She smirks. “Sometimes I even tried being truthful about the nightlife. Had to get my kicks somewhere.”_

_She blocks his kick, but the power of it sends her skidding back a few feet._

_“So talking is going to fix me,” he says doubtfully, voice hoarse with suppressed…something. Anger perhaps. Or frustration._

_“You’re always gonna be a bit broken,” she says seriously. “Look at me. Look at the Scoobies. What was it Dawn said? Our issues have issues? But there’s a difference between scars and walking wounded. Or walking wounded and sepsis?” She grunts as Steve trips her, using her momentum to spring off her hands and drive her feet into his chest, sending him flying away from her. “Whatever. My metaphors are shitty. Point being, nothing’s easy and healing won’t happen anytime soon, but it’ll get…less agonizing. Talking might help. Xander usually ends up the go-to guy for that, actually. Or a hobby. You were an artist, yeah? Paint. Draw. Carve wood. Get a diary. Veg out on the couch with the guys, get manicures with the minis. Whatever floats your boat.”_

_Silence, as the next flurry of attacks takes up most of their attention. Faith spits blood when a blow catches her in the mouth. Steve’s form gets sloppier as he tires, and when he tries to blink away the sweat and blood that trickles into his eyes from where the skin of his temple split at some point, Faith slams him down onto the mat, twisting around him to pin him._

_“I’d be happy to ride you,” she says with a leer as Steve flushes almost impossibly red. “But while sex might help in the short-term, in the long-term it’d just make things more complicated, and you definitely can’t afford complicated with your headspace. Goddamn my newfound conscience.”_

_Steve makes a strangled sort of sound and tries to look as though it’s not a tempting offer. “Don’t you have a guy?” he manages to get out through his mortification._

_“I’ve had many guys. Some gals, too,” she says huskily, and laughs at the expression on his face. “All right, big guy.” Faith gets up and reaches down to help him up, both silently agreeing that they are through sparring. “Seriously though, attempting to destroy an indestructible punching bag is not going to help. Try a hobby. Find a sparring partner. ‘Cause, honestly, you’re still trying to muscle through a fight, which does not work on someone who is stronger than you, as you have discovered before. Also, your agility needs work, and some of your movements are sloppy.”_

_Steve walks over to grab his towel and water bottle. “Do you always offer therapy sessions while fighting?” he asks. It might even be genuine curiosity. He’s still not quite sure how he really feels most of the time._

_Faith snorts. “If you’re with us through an apocalypse, you’ll find that Scooby therapy sessions tend to take place mid-battle. We air out all our dirty laundry and do the yelling and screaming while taking down the baddies. But hey,” she shrugs, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Guess it works for us.”_

 

 

 

Steve stepped through a portal in Cleveland into one of the many rooms of the London NWSC headquarters. During apocalypse season the Scoobies tended to congregate in one of those two locations, and as such a permanent portal had been created to connect them. There were permanent portals connecting several of the major NWSC locations worldwide. Despite the sheer difficulty in creating them, as well as the potential danger, it had been decided that the benefits of the portals far outweighed the costs.

Steve was certainly inclined to agree, especially since they were generally saved for emergency and certain official use. He had needed to use them so rarely that it still gave him a thrill to realize that he had appeared thousands of miles from his starting point in an instant.

Giles met him at the door with a folder of papers. His distaste for the ‘infernal machines’ is very well-known. It had taken Steve only a few days to surpass the Englishman’s level of competence with a computer.

“Hello, sir,” Steve greeted, fiddling with the strap of his shield’s harness. Outside of battle, he carried it in an artist’s portfolio, because even with its temporary paintjob it was pretty conspicuous. Currently, it was strapped to his back, a circle of dark bluish-gray, temporarily painted such for better nighttime camouflage. He hadn’t been ready to take up the stars and stripes again, wasn’t even sure he would ever be prepared to become Captain America again.

Wasn’t sure Captain America was really needed.

But Steve Rogers, field Watcher and honorary Scooby, was more than enough for these people. He had been unbelievably lucky when Xander and Willow had found him.

Plus, he didn’t even want to contemplate the media storm that would inevitably occur were he to be outed as the original Captain America, still alive and young as ever. Never mind the conspiracy theories and the potential inability to walk the streets unrecognized and unmolested. He’d seen how celebrities were treated these days. That was the stuff of nightmares.

“It’s always a novel thing to be, ah, addressed politely with a title,” the head of the NWSC said wryly. “But I’ve told you before to just call me Giles, as the children do. Or even Rupert.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain agreed, and stifled a grin when the other man repressed an eye roll. “Will you be coming with me to Germany, Giles?”

“Yes, there are a few things I learned that we need to go over, mostly regarding what we’ve managed to dig up about SHIELD. Xander will meet us in Frankfurt, and hopefully that will put us close enough to wherever we need to go. The Seers only managed to narrow it down to southern Germany, so our IT department is keeping a close eye on SHIELD and the…ah…social media sites.” The last bit is said in the manner of someone testing out phrases in a foreign language.

Steve was still a bit thrilled at understanding what social media is. At participating in it, actually. He hadn’t been out of the ice that long, after all, and so much had changed in 70 years.

“But first I’ll lead you to your uniform.”

“Uniform?” he repeated, confused, as he followed Giles through the building.

“Mm. It’s always better and more effective not to stretch the bounds of notice-me-not spells. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt, say, when everyone else is in more somber colors causes the magic to work harder,” he explained. “It’s an impressive if understated spell in its own right, and even more powerful if you assist it in being unnoticeable. Ah, here we are.”

Giles retrieved a garment bag hanging from the door of his office and passed it off to his companion.

It was heavier than it looked, and Steve realized why when he stepped into a nearby restroom to change. The suit was black and tight fitting, and when he examined it more closely he realized that it was lightly armored. He smiled a little to himself as he did up the various zippers and memorized where all the pockets were located. Very useful. Much more so than his first uniform.

Steve spent the ride to Germany studying the files Giles had given him, and wondering what it was he had learned about SHIELD that made him just as uneasy as the Scoobies around confidential special forces operations that weren’t Riley and Graham’s group (he’d met them a few times; they were good men). Not that Giles was any more trusting of such operations than the others, but the British man didn’t usually have this…subtle edginess about him regarding it. However, they couldn’t exactly speak freely with the other passengers around, so as much as it set him on edge himself, Steve remained silent.

He distracted himself by mentally creating the outlines of plans to get into the current SHIELD base of operations, and what to do once he was inside. Everyone figured that he would have very little time to plant his bugs and search for information, and the techno-pagans and tech staff would have even less time to search the electronic files before the current apocalypse was upon them. They were all experienced enough to tell that this was hurtling toward its conclusion. If they were lucky, they would have days.

If they weren’t, they had hours.

Steve could only hope it was enough.

Almost as soon as they landed, they received word that Loki had been spotted in Stuttgart, and SHIELD was scrambling to get to the city.

“Will we have enough time?” Steve asked worriedly. He wasn’t sure exactly how far away it was, but it wasn’t exactly close.

“Perhaps not if we needed to take a car,” Giles said as he hurried through the airport with the soldier at his heels. “But the mother of one of the Berlin slayers owns and flies a small plane. She’s waiting for us at a private runway, and Xander wasn’t far from Stuttgart when he got the news, so he’ll beat us there.”

Mrs. Fischer greeted the pair and ushered them aboard the tiny craft, quickly and efficiently preparing for take-off.

“Now that we can speak freely,” Giles said, speaking loudly so as to be heard above the engine, “there are a few things we discovered about SHIELD that you should be aware of.”

Steve focused on him, worried.

“Do you remember Dr. Cleo Johnston?”

He thought for a moment. “She’s a historian, isn’t she? She taught me quite a bit when I first woke up.”

“Yes,” Giles nodded. “What you might not know is that she has a minor, if remarkably useful, postcognitive ability. That is to say, ah, while history is written by the victors, when she reads about the past she intuits and occasionally Sees the truth of what occurred. She reads between the lines, so to speak.”

“And she was studying SHIELD,” Steve concluded, mind racing.

“Precisely. She was one of the group studying the past actions of SHIELD upon the world at large, knowing instinctively which actions could be attributed to that organization. They mapped out cause and effect, noting what was speculation, what was fact, and what was released to the public.”

Steve’s heart sank in his chest. This was Peggy’s legacy, and Howard’s as well. And judging by Giles’ careful speech, something was wrong. “What is it?”

The other man sighed. “We know that there will be a great number of gray areas with such organizations as these, particularly international espionage. And we know that it was intended as a force for good. Based on the what we know of their actions, their missions, generally good intentions are behind them. And generally, decent actions are taken, or at least they are not the worst of a several options. But the ways in which some missions fail, the long-term effects of some missions that succeed.

“When you step back far enough, Cleo said that it’s almost as though SHIELD were bipolar.”

Steve hunched forward, rubbing his face as his mind raced, trying to make sense of this. Wondering if there was any sense to make. Wondering if this changed anything about what he was about to do.

Giles watched him quietly, the plane engine the only noise for several long moments.

“We can by no means claim to have all or even most of the information about SHIELD,” he said at last, reaching up to clean his glasses. “Perhaps it would make more sense if we did.”

“But it’s accurate enough – and worrisome enough – to specifically bring it up with me,” Steve said.

Giles met his gaze. “If it’s true, the situation you are walking into may be even more dangerous and volatile than predicted. If you are still determined to go – ”

“I am,” he said, back straightening, no hint of doubt.

The head of the NWSC looked faintly exasperated and entirely unsurprised, “ – then at least you are forewarned.”

He shuffled through his briefcase and pulled out an identification card attached to a lanyard. It looked like the badges members of the NWSC wore when meeting with government officials or spending time in government buildings. It might not mean a lot within the agency, but outside of it, it at least made them appear official, gave a sort of visual warning of their very real authority. It definitely cut down on some minor and irritating problems.

“This will activate Willow’s notice-me-not spell,” he explained, passing it over to the larger man. “It’s a one-time use only, so don’t take it off unless you wish to end the spell. Or if the spell breaks,” he added as an afterthought.

“Understood.” Steve nodded and then twitched a little. As soon as he touched the badge, he felt Willow’s mind brushing lightly against the protections that he had built around his own. Everyone in the agency was taught at least minimal protections against mental intrusions in the mandatory introduction to magic class. At the very least, most members were likely to come up against a vampire with at least a little mesmeric talent.

They cautiously confirmed that the other was who they were supposed to be, and then Steve lowered his protections just enough for Willow to establish the telepathic link. Not that she couldn’t have forced her way through with some ease, but that was something she would never do to her allies, and hoped to never have to do to an enemy. That sort of thing, ripping into beings’ minds, was extremely Dark magic.

He tucked his badge into a zippered pocket, waiting until later to activate the spell.

_‘Testing, one two three, testing,’_ he heard her familiar voice say in his mind, shaded with amusement. If Steve cared to, he could read even more into her mental state, connected as they were. But both of them were sticking only to surface emotions.

He couldn’t help a quiet snort, and Giles arched a knowing brow, no doubt realizing what was happening. _‘Reading you loud and clear.’_

_‘Same here,’_ she responded cheerfully. There was a long pause, and then, _‘Are you almost there? Xander’s organizing Feuersee House and it looks like Loki’s heading to some sort of fancy soiree thingy. And he’s not exactly hiding. In my experience, that’s never a good thing.’_

Steve glanced out the window, his fists digging into his thighs a little in anticipation. _‘We’re descending now.’_

_‘Almost show time,’_ she murmured, and he could feel her nerves as they echoed his own. _‘Good luck.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in a bit of a rush, so I apologize for any errors. And I’m really not sure about Faith’s voice here, but, meh. That’s how she came out, for good or ill. Also, I totally meant to at least get Steve onto the helicarrier by the end of this chapter, but the exposition dragged on a bit longer than I thought. Sorry. Hopefully there will be more action next time!


End file.
